


Sometimes A Bitch Just Needs A Hug

by K5C8



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Canon Universe, Fluff, Geraskier, Geraskier Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, fluff at the end, geralt is insecure, jaskier is in a bad mood, no beta we die like calanthe, poor roach has to listen to them argue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K5C8/pseuds/K5C8
Summary: Jaskier is in a Mood™ and Geralt has no idea how to handle it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 190





	Sometimes A Bitch Just Needs A Hug

The heat was stifling. It was midsummer on the Path and Jaskier was growing tired. Tired of walking. Tired of the heat, of the godsdamned _humidity_. The summer sun was boring down on him, wearing him down quick, no matter how much water he drank or layers he shed. But perhaps the worse thing about this day for Jaskier was the knowledge that his mother’s birthday had arrived, and he was not welcome in their home.

He usually spent the stifling summer days performing in court or instructing a few summer courses at Oxenfurt. But he had opted to spend the summer and winter with Geralt after their companionship had grown into more of a romantic sort. He thought perhaps spending his mother’s birthday with the witcher would help raise his spirits and distract him from the heartache of the separation. But alas, even spending time with Geralt did not quell his miseries. Especially with the heat and choking humidity. It had all left him in the foulest of moods.

The bard had spent the first half of the morning complaining of tiredness and spent the second half groaning about the oncoming heat. He had complained about their boring on-the-go lunch of dried meat and water, and then came the whining about the sweat that will inevitably stain his clothes. He hadn't sung a single lyric that day, hadn't hummed even the shortest of melodies. The only sounds coming from Jaskier were groans of discomfort and incessant complaints, and the White Wolf had no idea how to handle it.

Geralt felt overwhelmed with Jaskier’s poor attitude at this point, but he also understood that Jaskier was human and did not possess the same stamina as he. It was also Jaskier’s first summer on the Path, and Geralt was worried that the bard had finally grown weary of life and traveling with Geralt. Worried that he’d finally realized that the world has so much more to offer than Geralt can give him. A steady home. The comforts of home-cooked meals and soft beds to lounge in. Performing in court and festivals rather than creaky old taverns. Geralt could give him no such luxuries.

He’d been expecting it for some time. He’d been dreading the day Jaskier will have drunk his fill of life and love with Geralt and be on his merry way to go charm the noblemen and ladies in court, or perhaps find another bard—male or female—to sing and compose his sweet melodies with. And when Geralt feared rejection, all he knew to do was shut down and push away. He’d spent the entire morning and early afternoon ignoring Jaskier’s non-stop whining, opting to clench his jaw and furrow his brows, brooding in silence as he walked on the other side of Roach.

It was midday when Geralt suddenly and wordlessly turned a sharp right, leading Roach off of the trail they were following and into the forest. He knew there was a river nearby and decided the day was too hot for Jaskier and Roach to continue. Though he’d planned on making it to the next village by nightfall, he gave in and figured they might as well set up camp, hoping that a dip in the water and some much needed rest would put the bard into better spirits. Jaskier followed along in confused silence, wondering what had led them off the path.

“Geralt, why have we stopped?” the bard inquired once Geralt tied Roach’s reigns to a low tree branch at the edge of a small clearing.

“There’s a river about four hundred paces east. You can cool down there while I set up camp and set a few traps for dinner.” Geralt replied, taking the packs off of Roach and starting the process of grooming her.

“But _why_ have we stopped, Geralt? You said we’d reach the next town by nightfall.” Jaskier had that whining tone of complaint again.

Geralt, not wanting the bard to know he’d only stopped to quiet those complaints, replied “Roach is growing weary of traveling. She needs a rest”

Jaskier knew both Geralt and Roach very well and simply was not buying it.

“Come on, Geralt,” he whined. “You haven't ridden her all day, surely she can't be tired out already. I can't take another night of the forest floor, waking up with bugs in my sleeping pack and various bits of flora in my hair. And I swear to Melitele herself, if I roll over onto _one more rock_ I’m never setting foot onto forest floor again,” he let out with a small fury.

 _And there it is,_ Geralt thought to himself. He felt his heart sink heavy into his stomach as he looked away from Jaskier, his only reply a barely audible hum.

“What aren't you telling me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked with an air of annoyance. “Is the village especially averse to witchers or something? Will they throw us out if we try for a room? Oh, I’d love to see them try. I’m in _quite_ a mood today and I have no problem ripping off someone’s head if need be.”

Believe me,” Geralt looked up to the canopy of branches and leaves as he mumbled his reply. “I’ve noticed.”

“And _what_ , my dear witcher, was _that_ supposed to mean?” the bard snapped.

“Just forget it,” Geralt replied as he turned back to Roach. “Go cool off in the river while I tend to Roach and set up camp.” He knew they’d have their blow-out and goodbyes soon enough, but he hadn't meant to spur it on just then.

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms, moving a step closer to the witcher. “No, Geralt, _clearly_ that meant something. Go on, then. Let’s hear it. Have something to share with the class, do you?” He leant forward with his arms out in the form of a mocking bow.

“I’m not one of your students, Jaskier,” Geralt replied with a growl of annoyance. “Don’t treat me like I’m some ignorant youth disrupting one of your lectures.”

Jaskier let out an indignant huff and muttered to himself. “I don't even know why I bother. Sore feet and an aching back for what? Dismissive grunts and growls? Ordering me around like I'm some child. I’ll go for a dip in the river when I’m good and ready. And, if you must know, I’d much rather wash up in an inn tonight. Not some rocky, slimy river filled with various fish and water life. Give me one good reason why we’ve stopped and prolonged our woodland journey when we could be sleeping in an actual bed tonight with ale and _real home-cooked food_ in our bellies. _Why_ , Geralt, have you decided to prolong my suffering in this godsforsaken inferno you call the Path?” He practically yelled by the end of his rant, wiping at the sweat that had collected on his forehead and upper lip.

“Gods, Jaskier, if you're going to leave then just leave!” Geralt let out as he whipped around, hurt and anger (though mostly anger showing) ablaze in his cat eyes. “You complain all morning and afternoon of stifling heat and aching feet, and then you complain some more when I pull off the trail and offer a place for you to cool down and get some rest. You’re wallowing is what you're doing. Next you'll complain that the sky is blue or that the trees are green.” He accused with a tone of frustrated exasperation. “Perhaps you should just take out your bedroll and lie down. You clearly need a fucking nap, groaning and bitching all damn day.” Geralt couldn't stop himself from offering Jaskier what he knew was the inevitable end of this argument: ”If you can’t handle summer on the Path then just say so.”

Jaskier looked on, a fiery hurt growing in his eyes as Geralt continued, ”If you’ve tired of traveling then settle into court or Oxenfurt or wherever the hell you want, rather than sharing nothing but your misery and horrid fucking attitude. If you’d rather be at court or screwing around with whatever young man or maiden fawn over you after a performance then just go. By all means, be on your way. You don't _need_ to carry on with me here when you're clearly hating every last fucking minute of it. Acting as if I'm holding you back from your lush life back in society. God’s you’re being such a bitch today.” He spat out the last words, too angry and hurt to show the immediate regret radiating through him. He clenched his fists and turned away from the bard.

Jaskier threw his arms in the air and exclaimed, “You know what, Geralt?! Sometimes a bitch just needs a hug. Perhaps my foul mood has less to do with boredom of you than it does something else. Yes my body is tired, but so is my mind, Geralt. So is my _heart.”_ Geralt turned back to Jaskier, looking confused as ever.

Jaskier felt his throat tighten but refused to let it affect his voice or allow tears to well into his eyes. “It’s my mother’s fucking birthday today and my father won't let me set foot into his estate. He practically washed his hands of me when I left to pursue a life as a bard. Its my mother’s birthday and no matter how much we miss each other, we cannot even exchange letters. So, yes, I'm bitching and moaning and nothing is going my way today. I was looking forward to resting in an inn with the comforts of food and a fucking bed. With _sheets and pillows_ , Geralt!” He exclaimed. “Did you even _think_ to _ask_ me what is wrong? No, you just drew your own conclusions, supposing you could read my mind. I need _comfort_ , damnit, and all I've gotten today were grunts and hums, and now you’re telling me to leave? Is that what you want?” He crossed his arms as Geralt remained silent. “Ugh, I can't do this right now,“ Jaskier let out, stomping off to the other side of the small clearing, leaning his shoulder on a tree and looking away from Geralt.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered to himself when he could smell the salt of Jaskier’s tears wafting over in the breeze.

Geralt took a minute to steady his breath and relax before making his way over to Jaskier, hugging the bard’s waist from behind and resting his chin on a shoulder. Jaskier let out a still-angry sigh, but held onto Geralt’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt rumbled as he placed a small kiss on Jaskier’s neck. “I didn't mean it. I just…” It took a minute for Geralt to put his thoughts into coherent form. “I worry you're growing weary of life on the Path… weary of me.” He lifted a hand to wipe a tear from the bard’s cheek. “I don't know how to talk about it. It hurts to think about.” Geralt tensed his jaw when he finished.

“And so pushing me away is the safer option?” Jaskier asked with an exasperated chuckle. “God’s, Geralt, you can't do that. You can be so thick sometimes,” he said before turning his face to place a kiss into Geralt’s palm. “I have my bad days. Days like this when I may be inconsolable. I get angry. I get sad. My legs may grow tired and perhaps I dislike this smoldering heat, but I’m not going anywhere. _I’m not leaving you._ Please, Geralt, let that sink in. Get that through your head. I’m _yours_ , and you are mine. You couldn't even get rid of me if you tried.”

“Never,” replied Geralt. “I’ll never try to rid myself of you. I was scared you were leaving me. I’m sorry, songbird,” He apologized. “I should have never spoken to you like that, angry or not. You don't deserve that. There’s no excuse. You deserve to be treated better.”

“Apology accepted,” Jaskier sighed and leaned further into Geralt. “I’m sorry for taking my frustrations out on you. I recognize I could have communicated better rather than expecting you to just know what was going on in my mind.”

Geralt let out a loving hum as he moved his hands down to grip Jaskier’s hips, turning him around to place a gentle kiss on the bard’s lips. Jaskier leaned into the kiss and brought it deeper, wrapping his arms round Geralt’s neck and tangling his calloused fingers into silver-white hair. Geralt held him tighter, moving his hands up and down the expansion of Jaskier’s back as passion began to flood the atmosphere.

Jaskier broke the kiss as Geralt’s hands began to travel back down to his waist and brought their foreheads together, smiling as his cornflower blue eyes met Geralt’s honey-golden. “Let’s set up camp together, shall we?” he offered. “And when we’ve finished, we can go down to the river and continue this lovely sentiment somewhere we won't die of heatstroke,” he added with a suggestive grin.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied before peppering kisses up and down Jaskier’s jawline, suddenly lifting the bard against his torso. The bard’s legs instinctively wrapped around his witcher's waist as he began walking them toward the river.

“On second thought,” Jaskier let out with a giggle as he kissed and sucked at Geralt’s neck, eliciting a soft growl form the Witcher. “Camp can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As always, feel free to comment your thoughts! 💜💜💜
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as geraskier-trashh


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